The air in the bar crackled with tension, the remaining patrons scattering like leaves in a storm as the fight erupted. Chairs toppled, glass shattered, and the dim lighting flickered as if even the electricity was afraid of what was unfolding.
Helena moved like liquid shadow—graceful, precise, lethal. Taeyang's knife sliced toward her throat—Helena twisted, her elbow cracking upward. His head jerked back, but he rolled with the blow, already resetting his stance near the shattered jukebox. He staggered, but his lazy gaze didn't stagger even for once, as if pain was just another game to him. As if this was too boring for him by now.
Taeyang moved —silent and lethal, like a shadow slipping through cracks. His strikes were precise, aiming for swift incapacitation. Each attack aimed to end the fight quickly, his knife flicking out like a venomous snake's bite.
Taeyang's blade flashed from her right—Helena ducked, only for Hyunjae's boot to slam into her ribs from the left. The impact knocked her sideways, straight into his waiting grip.
Hyunjae circled, calculating, his eyes gleaming with cold menace. He wasn't just a dealer of goods but of pain—a puppeteer in this deadly dance. His movements were fluid but controlled at the same time—not the wild swings of an amateur, but the calculated strikes of someone who had spent years mastering violence. His fist grazed her ribs, but she twisted, catching his wrist and using his momentum to hurl him into a nearby table. Wood splintered beneath his weight, but he rolled to his feet almost instantly, eyes alight with something between admiration and fury. His punches weren't wild; they were carefully aimed to break bones and wills.
The air reeked of sweat, whiskey, and the coppery tang of blood.
Junseo charged head-on, raw power and relentless fury driving every blow. His fists slammed like hammers, each strike fueled by years of hand-to-hand combat mastery. He was the storm—the unpredictable force crashing through defenses.
Helena's breaths were steady yet, her eyes flickering with fierce resolve. She dodged Taeyang's blade with dancer's grace, twisting away just in time. A sharp kick sent Hyunjae staggering, but he recovered swiftly, smirking like he enjoyed the challenge.
Junseo's next punch came fast—too fast—but Helena's palm met his wrist, redirecting the force. She spun, delivering a devastating elbow to his ribs.
The music's bass throbbed in time with her pulse, a dissonant drumline to the violence.
Helena had blocked Junseo's jab, but Taeyang's knife grazed her arm—warm blood trickled down her sleeve.
Hyunjae's voice was a serrated whisper inaudible to her: 'Still standing? About to get fixed soon.'
The clash was brutal, a deadly ballet of violence and willpower.
Glasses shattered, echoing like gunshots as bodies collided.
Helena's breath was now ragged, each inhale laced with fire. Phantom or not, taking on three of them at once wasn't a game—it was a war.
Her muscles screamed, but she clenched her teeth—no weakness, not here, not now. She didn't let it show. Not for a second.
Weakness was a luxury she couldn't afford. Gritting her teeth, she drove her boot into Taeyang's jaw—bone met leather, and his smirk finally faltered—the moment he tried to pull her down from below, his movement slick and silent. His head snapped back with a grunt, but he didn't stumble. Of course he didn't. Taeyang was too damn calculated beneath the lazy demeanor for that—already recovering, already coming at her again with that blade, every strike sharp, deliberate, like he was trying to carve her down to bone.
The heavy bass of the music thumped unevenly, barely masking the rapid pounding of hearts and the sharp breaths drawn in the chaos.
But a strange lethargy prickled at her veins—too sudden to be fatigue.
Scattered chairs and overturned tables became both obstacles and weapons in the brutal dance.
'Three against one. Unfair. But since when had they ever fought fair?'—Taeyang brushed the thought aside, forcing himself to remember the France encounter and her taunting note on that statue.
Every surface was slick—damp with spilled drinks or slick with sweat—making footing treacherous, forcing careful, precise moves.
Junseo moved like the raw force he was—blurred, effortless, predatory. His foot lashed out with surgical precision, aiming not just to cripple her knee, but to shatter it. A calculated strike, meant to leave her broken but breathing.
Helena had trained killers like him before. Or so she thought.
She pivoted, her fingers locking around his ankle like a vice, yanking him off-balance with a force that sent him crashing into the ground. The impact should have winded him. It should have bought her a second to strike.
But Junseo was faster.
His hand shot out, snagging her wrist with bruising force, dragging her down with him. They rolled in a violent tangle of limbs, each movement sharp, desperate—until she twisted free with a snarl, flipping him onto his back in one brutal motion. Her knee slammed into his sternum, pinning him. Her fingers curled around his throat, pressing down with the promise of suffocation—
Then, the world tilted.
The room tilted—no, not the room. Her. A sluggish heat spread through her limbs, too fast, too wrong. Her gaze snapped to her half-finished glass.
Her tongue caught the aftertaste—bitter almonds, cloying and wrong.
"You—"
The edges of her vision blurred, shadows creeping in like ink in water. Her muscles turned leaden, her grip slackening against her will.
No.
She hadn't drunk that much. Hadn't drunk anything at all.
Yet her body betrayed her, limbs heavy, thoughts sluggish.
And then—she saw it.
The flicker of Junseo's gaze, darting past her. The split-second glance exchanged with Hyunjae, lingering just long enough to be deliberate.
Their lips curled in unison.
Smirking.
Before she could react, Junseo surged upward, dragging her with him as if she weighed nothing. Her legs wobbled beneath her, the room spinning. She barely caught herself against the leather counter behind them, her knuckles bleaching white with the force of her grip.
Junseo leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted over her ear—warm, mocking.
"Aw, losing your touch?" His voice dripped with false concern, saccharine and poisonous.
When she managed to glare up at him, his eyebrow arched, taunting. 'Still that goddamn control?' the look said.
A dry, ragged whisper clawed its way from her throat—
"How?"
Hyunjae stepped forward then, his smile a blade wrapped in silk.
"You really should be more careful," he murmured, tilting his head. "Who knows what someone might have slipped into your drink when you weren't looking?"
And then followed—laughter. Soft, cruel, victorious.
Because this had never been a fight.
It had been a performance.
And she had played her part perfectly.
Taeyang merely tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting with a hint of cruel satisfaction as the room seemed to spin faster around her.
Her legs buckled—'No.' She clawed at the counter, nails gouging leather, but her arms were leaden. The room tilted, her vision tunneling to Junseo's smirk.
The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered at her feet—just like her composure.
Before her body could fully collapse, strong arms caught her mid-fall. Junseo's.
He held her with ease, one arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her back. But there was no tenderness in his grip—only cold precision, like a soldier handling a fallen enemy.
"Got you," he muttered under his breath, unreadable eyes locked on her barely conscious face.
Helena's head lulled to the side, her breaths shallow.
The last thing she saw was Junseo's cold smile. Then—nothing. But in the void, her fury burned. This wasn't surrender.
It was a delay.
And when she woke—oh, they'd learn what fury truly was.
"Mission complete," Junseo murmured, adjusting his grip like she was cargo. "Rest now."